They Call the Thing Rodeo
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: There aren't a lot of people who can catch Miyuki by surprise, but it has always been his misfortune that Chris is one of them. Chris x Miyuki, alternate universe, smut.


**Title:** They Call the Thing Rodeo  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Chris, Miyuki  
><strong>Summary:<strong> There aren't a lot of people who can catch Miyuki by surprise, but it has always been his misfortune that Chris is one of them.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> In which Chris and Miyuki are cowboys, because Chris in tight jeans. Adult for smut. 6664 words.

* * *

><p><strong>They call the Thing Rodeo<strong>

It's late, but not too late—the straitlaced types have all gone to bed, but their rowdier counterparts are still whooping it up in the bars and will be for a couple more hours at least. Kazuya counts himself in neither of those camps, though he can move back and forth between them at will. He's got other things on his mind tonight, has done all damn day, and the few answers he's found, asking around, haven't done much to satisfy him. Like as not, they wouldn't satisfy anyone.

He finds his quarry right where his casual snooping had told him he would, sitting in a chair balanced on two legs and smoking a cigarette outside a shitty cheap room in a strip of shitty cheap motel rooms.

Kazuya doesn't know what he's gonna say until he turns the key in the ignition and swings himself out from behind the wheel to plant his boots on the cracked concrete, so what comes out is, "Those things will kill you."

Chris takes another drag off his cigarette, meditative, and exhales a long plume of smoke. "Probably not."

That's so true, and so perfectly understated, that it actually takes Kazuya a moment to grasp the full meaning of it. When he does, he sucks in a breath so sharp it cuts his throat. It shouldn't be a shock, not after a day that started with the low buzz of questions passed from mouth to mouth—_have you heard, is it true, did you hear about it, Takigawa is here, Takigawa is going to ride, is it _true_?_—and had reached its peak with the loudspeakers booming Chris' name and particulars right before the most glorious eight seconds of the entire damn day. It shouldn't be a shock, but it is, leaves Kazuya dry-mouthed and reeling where he stands, trying to reconcile this Chris, clear-eyed and calm, with the Chris he remembers all too well from the last time they talked, blank with more than just pain and painkillers and certain that he was done. "You're really coming back."

Chris taps the ash off his cigarette and says, quiet, "I suppose I am."

Kazuya wants there to be something he can brace himself on, but the hood of his truck is too far away. He makes do with sheer self-control and a bubble of something hot twisting just a little behind and to the left of his breastbone. "What the hell, Chris? I mean—just—what the _hell_?"

The tip of Chris' cigarette brightens and casts its glow against Chris' expression as he takes another drag. He's watching Kazuya, but only God above knows what's going through his head right now. "I think you've met Sawamura."

There's a second where Kazuya can't even see straight, because yeah. He's met Sawamura. Twice now, even, once in a shitty bar where the kid had thought he was doing a great job not getting pitched off the mechanical bull, at least until Kazuya had shown him how it was done, and once that Kazuya prefers not to think about. "What about him?"

Chris favors him with a look that just about drips patience. "Surely you heard that Kataoka asked me to lend a hand with his training."

"Sure, I heard about that." Sometimes their sponsor likes to take long shots, and he's not the wasteful sort either. Kazuya knows that just fine. "I also heard you weren't ever going to ride again, because you were done." No one had been surprised. Some bulls were career-killers. Or just plain killers. That was a fact of life.

Chris takes another drag off his cigarette, the last one before he stubs it out in the ashtray balanced on his knee. "I thought I was." His voice is slow, thoughtful. "I guess Sawamura proved me wrong there."

"Huh. Go figure." How had the kid done it? Maybe through the power of sheer aggravation—yeah, Kazuya could see that, given Sawamura's depths (like a mud puddle drying in the Texas sun) and willingness to share the conclusions he'd jumped to at the top of his lungs. "Must be more to him than I thought."

Chris smiles, the barest twitch of his lips turning up at the corners. "Appearances are deceiving when it comes to him."

So that's that: the loudmouth without a clue managed to do something no one else had been able to do. Kazuya still can't decide whether Sawamura really does have some kind of buried genius or simply the strangest luck in the world. Probably doesn't matter, really. He gets results somehow, impossible results, and at least this time the rest of them are going to benefit from that. Kazuya clears his throat. "Well—"

Chris lowers the front legs of his chair to the ground; it creaks and groans somewhat alarmingly as he does, but he rises and sets his ashtray down before it can do anything like give way beneath his bulk. "I think the lecture you gave him might have helped."

"The lecture _I_ gave him?" Kazuya widens his eyes at Chris, striving for his best approximation of Sawamura's cluelessness. "What are you talking about?"

It doesn't do any good, except to amuse Chris. "You do know that Rei likes to pass along interesting news, Kazuya."

He can't deny that: it's come in too handy for his own purposes for him to be able to. But he can try. "Listening to gossip is a terrible habit."

Chris cocks his head and doesn't say anything at all. The silence stretches out between them, makes Kazuya twitchy, until Chris finally says, quiet, "It's not always a bad thing. Sometimes you learn things about people that you never would have expected."

"Yeah, maybe." Kazuya shifts his weight, not particularly interested in the direction this conversation is going. He's found out what he wanted to know, so he might as well—

"Would you like to come inside for a drink?"

Kazuya stops short and stares. "What? Since when do you drink in the middle of a competition?" Of all the people to abandon discipline, even after a long, hard convalescence and a period of retirement, Chris is the last person he'd expect to do something like that.

"Since never," Chris says calmly enough in spite of the suspicious quivering at the corners of his lips. "That was what you might call a euphemism for asking you in for other reasons."

There aren't a lot of people who can catch Kazuya by surprise, but it has always been his misfortune that Chris is one of them. "_What?_" This isn't actually happening, is it? "You're joking, right?"

"No, I'm not. That's more your habit, isn't it?" Chris asks, so gentle about it that Kazuya can hardly breathe. "You're not one for letting on how you actually feel, even when what you feel is an awful lot." Chris shakes his head then, mouth tilting. "Not that I'm always that observant, I guess."

Kazuya doesn't know why Chris would say _that_; he seems plenty observant right now, terrifyingly so. "Chris—"

When he stops, at a loss for how to go on, Chris takes pity on him, after a fashion. "Do you want to come in?" he asks again. "I'd like it if you did, but I'll understand if you'd rather not."

Kazuya hears himself say, "How can you be so smart and say something that damn stupid?" which is a pretty ambiguous response, but one belied by the step forward he takes.

"Sheer talent," Chris says, solemn as a judge, right before he hits Kazuya with the full force of his smile. (Kazuya would like to know how _anyone_ could hold his ground against something like that.) "Is that your way of saying yes?"

"What do _you_ think it is?" Kazuya retorts, taking another step in his direction and hoping like hell that it only feels like his knees have gone wobbly on him.

"I think a lot of things," Chris tells him, two parts teasing and one part earnest, as he matches Kazuya's step forward by taking one backwards, towards the door of his room. It's like he thinks he's luring a nervous animal into doing something it's not sure it wants to do. (Maybe he is.) "Maybe I'll tell you about them sometime, if you ask me nicely."

"Define _nicely_." A third step on his part, a second step on Chris', and that brings Chris within reach of the door.

"Maybe later." Chris reaches behind himself and turns the knob. The door swings open, revealing what's probably the platonic ideal of a cheap shitty motel room. "You want to come in?"

Kazuya takes a breath. "Yeah, sure, why not?" he asks as Chris stands aside and he takes that fourth and final step forward, bringing himself within Chris' reach.

Weirdly, it's Chris who says, "Thank you," as he spreads a hand at the small of Kazuya's back and ushers him across the threshold.

Kazuya raises his eyebrows just a bit over that—what, is he supposed to be some kind of girl?—but Chris doesn't even seem to notice, so it might just be Chris being Chris, oversized boy scout that he is. Or maybe he's too busy hanging the _do not disturb_ tag over the doorknob and throwing the lock to notice. Kazuya represses the urge to scrub his palms on his jeans by hooking his thumbs in his pockets instead. "So now what?"

"Now I probably would offer you something to drink if we weren't both riding tomorrow." Chris shrugs over this, clearly philosophical, and turns to Kazuya to step into his personal space before Kazuya can even point out that _he_ doesn't personally have any rules about when he drinks (aside from making sure that he's not hung over the day of a competition—never again). Chris touches his face, runs the pads of his fingers over Kazuya's cheekbone as he slides his thumb along his jaw to tilt his chin up, and Kazuya finds himself being kissed before he even realizes it. That's hardly playing fair, but on the other hand, Chris kisses like he means business, slipping his tongue into Kazuya's mouth and stroking it against his.

It should be _annoying_, the way Chris has just taken charge like this, yet Kazuya doesn't feel particularly inclined to kick over that—not until Chris pulls back just as Kazuya's leaning into him, ready to start getting into the spirit of things. "Hey!"

Chris smiles at him. "Why don't you sit down while I go slip into something a little more comfortable?"

Kazuya stares at him, the faint curl of Chris' lips and the twinkle in his eyes, and thumps his fist on Chris' chest. "I don't know why everyone thinks you're so nice when you are _clearly_ an asshole."

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Chris says, bland, right before he leans in to brush his mouth over Kazuya's. That just isn't fair, neither that nor the way Chris slips past him while he's still marshalling his response. Damn it.

Kazuya has the unsettling feeling that he's no longer entirely in charge of this situation, which, when it comes to bedroom affairs, is not usual at all. He makes for the closer of the two double beds and pulls back the comforter and blankets and peels out of his shirt while he's at it. By the time Chris finishes doing whatever it is he's doing over by the sink—Kazuya hears his boots hit the floor, so that must be part of it—Kazuya's pushing his jeans down, too, and is leaning back against the pillows when Chris comes away from the sink and sees him. (It's not really comfortable—the pillow isn't in the right place to support his back and the headboard fastened to the wall is jabbing his shoulder—but that's really not worth considering.)

Chris stops, goes still, and just _looks_ at him like Kazuya's the only thing in the world. "Jesus," he says, soft, and crosses the room in a handful of quick strides. The mattress squeaks in protest when he throws a knee over Kazuya's hips, straddling his lap and bending down to kiss him again. Kazuya would congratulate himself on having successfully provoked Chris, but he's too busy with the way it feels to have Chris' bulk caging him against the bed and Chris' mouth hot and hungry on his.

He reaches back to Chris, sliding his fingers over the back of Chris' neck and into the soft hair at the nape of his neck and spreading his other hand against Chris' chest, warm through the soft cotton of his shirt—"I thought you were going to change into something more comfortable?"

Chris laughs against his mouth. "Looks like you decided to do that yourself." He runs his hand down Kazuya's side and over his stomach, his touch light enough that Kazuya nearly yelps at the ticklish feeling. Then Chris curves his hand over Kazuya's cock, cupping him through his underwear.

Kazuya groans, dizzy as all the blood in his body seems to rush straight to his cock and the warm weight of Chris' hand, and _Jesus_, Chris isn't doing anything but _holding_ him. Not that it seems to matter much to Kazuya's body; he hasn't gotten this hard this fast since he was a teenager. "Fuck," he says, breathless, lifting his hips and pressing into Chris' hand, "fuck, Chris—"

"God, look at you." There's a hush in Chris' voice, a low rumble in his throat, and Kazuya realizes that Chris really is looking at him, watching him. His eyes are hot, full of intent, and Kazuya doesn't know how to respond to that, doesn't have the first idea what he should do, what to say to lighten the mood, though he really should. It's never a good idea to let these things turn too intense. It never ends well.

Not that Chris seems to know that. He kisses Kazuya again, taking casual possession of his mouth before Kazuya can pull himself together, and he shifts his hand, squeezing him through his underwear with just the right amount of pressure to make Kazuya's brain white out with the sensation as he jerks his hips against Chris' hand. He doesn't even realize he's shut his eyes until Chris moves his hand, but they fly open when the warmth of it disappears so he must have done it somewhere in there. He protests, saying Chris' name against his mouth, but all it gets him is a quiet hum, one that sounds entirely too amused for a completely non-verbal response. Kazuya forgives him for it almost immediately, the very moment that Chris slips his hand under the waistband of his underwear, pushing it down as he gets his fingers wrapped around Kazuya's cock properly.

Kazuya leans his head back, resting it against the wall and groaning as heat flashes up his spine, product of the strength in Chris' hand moving over his cock, the rasp of callous over sensitive skin almost more than is bearable. Chris strokes him slowly, running his fingers up and down his cock and sliding his thumb back and forth over the head, through the wet beading there, and Kazuya can't even _think_ when each back and forth drag of Chris' fingers coaxes another shudder of pleasure through him. He's hanging onto Chris, one hand fisted in his shirt and the other twisted in his collar, panting for breath as he rocks up into Chris' hand, chasing the curling edge of heat as it builds higher, feeling himself drawing taut as he gets closer to that crest—

Chris lets go of him. Later, Kazuya will recall the sound he makes—something between a whimper and a whine—and be dreadfully embarrassed by it. But that will be later. In the moment he shudders and jerks his hips against the air, fruitlessly, before he remembers his words. "Fuck's sake, Chris, don't _stop_—"

"I'm not." Chris is flushed and husky and still manages to sound composed; life isn't fair. He's also drawing back, shifting his weight on the creaking mattress. Before Kazuya can demand to know where the fuck Chris thinks he's going, Chris sets hands on his hips and drags Kazuya down the bed.

Kazuya thinks he should protest being manhandled so casually, but can't bring himself to it, not when that careless display of Chris' strength makes his stomach twist and his cock twitch. "What—" he says, breathless, trying to figure out what Chris thinks he's doing, which is when Chris hitches Kazuya's ankles up over his shoulders and bends down to lick a wet stripe up the length of his cock. "Fuck!"

Chris _smiles_ at him like he knows just what he's done to short out Kazuya's brain. Then he closes his mouth around Kazuya, stroking his tongue over the head of him slowly. The softness of it unstrings Kazuya's spine; he just about melts against the sheets and into Chris' hands holding his hips up, supporting him for it as Chris sucks his cock. Kazuya can't even think, not really, outside scattered fragments of _hot_ and _more_ and _oh my God_; he never in his life expected to find himself watching his cock sliding between Chris' lips while Chris watches _him_, eyes just about glowing as he bends his head to take Kazuya deeper. Kazuya moans, shaking, and clutches the pillows as he lifts his hips, straining for more, more friction or more heat.

Chris moves with him, bracing his hips effortlessly and humming when Kazuya's cock hits the back of his throat. Kazuya shudders as the vibration of that husky sound drives up his spine, and says something, he's not even sure what, when Chris keeps going, swallowing him down. He keeps his eyes on Kazuya the whole time, watches him as he hums again, and he looks and sounds so satisfied that that's what pushes Kazuya over the edge every bit as much as the way the feel of Chris' throat working around his cock does. Kazuya groans, back coming off the bed as sensation sweeps through him, sharp as the lash of a whip, and shakes again when Chris holds him steady, swallowing him down as he comes. It's too much; Kazuya squeezes his eyes shut and gasps for breath, for mercy, until Chris pulls back—slow, so slow, deliberately slow, lingering over him and lapping at him softly before he eases Kazuya's hips down to the sheets.

Kazuya lets him, panting and still hanging onto the pillows like they're his last connection to reality, or at least reality as it was before Chris invited him in and then melted his brain.

The mattress shakes and creaks while he tries to compose himself, but calm eludes him—doesn't want to return to him when his body is still buzzing with pleasure and he can feel the phantom of Chris' hands on his skin.

It isn't until the mattress creaks again that Kazuya realizes his mistake: he's taken his eyes off Chris, and so he's taken by surprise by the sudden drape of Chris body' against his, warm and heavy and _bare_, and by the way Chris kisses him again, taking full advantage of Kazuya's parted lips as he runs his hands up Kazuya's arms to tug his grip away from the pillows and lace their fingers together.

When Kazuya opens his eyes, Chris is right there, watching him again. Still. And his eyes are warm, full of something that shakes Kazuya right down to his bones. He shivers. "What do you think you're _doing_, you lunatic?"

Chris just goes and smiles at him. "You're complicated," he says, no kind of explanation at all, and kisses Kazuya again, a slow casual brush of his lips over Kazuya's. "You don't ever show that you care. I wonder whether you even let yourself know how much some things matter to you." He pauses, looking at Kazuya and still smiling, still gazing at him with that gentle expression. "Probably not," he concludes, lowering his mouth to Kazuya's again while Kazuya freezes, because holy _shit_ does Chris have the wrong idea—that's not even—where did he even _get_ an idea like that—

Chris chuckles against his mouth, lifting his head just far enough to look Kazuya in the eye and smile at him some more, fond and amused and a little wry. "Hush," he says, though it's not as though Kazuya has said anything to deserve being hushed. He turns loose of Kazuya's hand and cups Kazuya's cheek. "I didn't see it before—couldn't," he amends, his smile tilting, but probably not on Kazuya's account. "Even though you made it as clear as you could. I didn't see, not until Sawamura—" Kazuya can't help it, he twitches when Chris brings that name up right in the middle of talking about—Kazuya doesn't even know what Chris is talking about, clearly there has been some monumental misunderstanding somewhere down the line. Chris doesn't miss that—couldn't miss it, not when he's plastered against Kazuya, skin-to-skin. He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sawamura," he says again, slow, smiling at Kazuya. "I didn't get it, not until Rei told me about you dressing him down for spouting off about things he didn't know anything about. Not until I saw you go green with envy over him just a little while ago."

"Oh my God," Kazuya says. "That concussion left you with permanent brain damage."

Chris laughs at him. "No, it really didn't, but you can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better." He leans down to kiss Kazuya again while he's still sputtering, sliding his fingers into Kazuya's hair to cradle his head as he licks into Kazuya's mouth. It leaves Kazuya torn: on the one hand, Chris seems to be operating under a set of hugely mistaken conclusions that are based on a fundamental misunderstanding of Kazuya's need to take a boisterous idiot down a few pegs for talking about things he didn't understand. On the other hand, Chris seems to have reached the end of his talkative mood and is kissing him in a way that reminds Kazuya that Chris is naked against him, naked and clearly hard, and that's _far_ more interesting than trying to explain all the ways in which Chris has missed the point.

Kazuya shrugs off this baffling detour into a discussion of his (nonexistent) feelings and devotes himself to sucking on Chris' tongue and squirming beneath him, shifting himself until he can feel Chris' cock rubbing against the crease of his hip. Chris groans, a husky sound that Kazuya likes, so he does it again just for the way he can feel Chris shudder over him. "You want a hand with that?"

"Not just yet," Chris tells him, shaping the words against Kazuya's mouth as he strokes a hand down Kazuya's side and sets it on his hip, no, holding it as he nudges a knee between Kazuya's and edges his thigh between Kazuya's to bear down against him.

It's Kazuya's turn to shudder; his cock is still sensitized at that pressure, the hint of friction, runs up his spine like a knife. "You've got to be kidding me."

Chris hums to him, noncommittal, and kisses him again, nibbling on his lip and shifting against Kazuya with shallow movements of his hips. Kazuya concludes that Chris _is_ serious about this, given the way sensation fires along his nerves every time Chris rubs against him.

It's optimistic of him, but apparently not completely impossible—Chris nudges against him, steady as a heartbeat, goes on kissing him as he slides his hands over Kazuya's skin like a cartographer exploring a new land, and any _one_ of those combined with the breadth of Chris' shoulders and the smooth line of his back, the taper of his hips and the sleekness of his muscles, would be enough to rouse a dead man. Kazuya winds his arms around Chris and draws his knee up a bit, lifting himself so he can feel Chris' cock slide against his skin and hear the groan Chris muffles against his mouth, and has to admit that there's heat pooling low in his belly again, a slower burn this time but no less intense for it.

Chris hums to him and traces his mouth along Kazuya's jaw, nuzzling against it. Kazuya tips his head a bit and groans when Chris discovers the sensitive skin just under his ear and promptly exploits the way it turns Kazuya's bones to water to be kissed there. His mouth is hot and soft, and the brush of his tongue makes Kazuya groan and squirm as the heat knotting at the pit of his stomach tightens. It takes him a moment to connect that and the way Chris is running his hands over his hips and ass with the rumble of Chris' voice against his skin.

Kazuya laughs, nearly helpless to stop himself. "You won't offer me a drink because we're riding tomorrow, but you want to fuck me?" Even as the words leave his lips, the idea fires his imagination—how it would feel to have his legs and ass sore, feeling the aftereffects of being fucked while he's in the chute, while he's hanging on to whichever bull he draws, and he's already shaking with the bolt of hunger that lances through him even before Chris says, his voice soft as velvet against Kazuya's ear, "I know you're good enough to ride any bull alive whether you can still feel my cock inside you or not."

Kazuya would like to meet the guy who'd be able to say no to _that_, because God knows he can't do it. But—"You don't have anything—" No, wait, what had Chris been doing over there by the sink besides taking his boots off, he'd been retrieving something—"You enormous, overgrown _boy scout_." Because that _is_ a condom and a plastic tube of personal lubricant sitting on the bed next to them when Kazuya looks.

Chris nibbles on his earlobe; Kazuya knows without having to see him that he's smiling again. "It'd be terrible to need them and not have them."

"Fair enough." Kazuya turns, seeking his mouth. "You really think you can fuck me hard enough I'll still feel it tomorrow?"

Chris chuckles, husky over the quiet pop of it as he thumbs the cap of the lube open. "Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe," Kazuya allows, pulling his knees up and planting his feet against the mattress. He reaches for Chris and draws him back to his mouth, a move that's one part strategy and one part desire and means that he only groans at the first touch of Chris' fingers rubbing against him, slick and slow. Chris probably recognizes the move for what it is; he's far too acute for Kazuya's peace of mind, but he doesn't call Kazuya on it as he circles his fingers against him, easing tight muscles and _pressing_—Kazuya groans, suddenly breathless as the stretch burns in his muscles, aching in the best possible way.

He arches into it, moving with Chris' hand and the heat twisting at the base of his spine, tangling his fingers in Chris' hair and turning himself over to the moment—no reason not to do the thing properly, if they're going to do it at all. Chris slides his fingers deep in response, until Kazuya drops his head back, gasping for breath and shuddering with how full he is. "Jesus, Chris," he says, or means to say—he doesn't know whether he actually manages it because that's when Chris twists his fingers, curls them, and Kazuya loses track of things for a little bit while fireworks go off on the inside of his skull, before the intensity of that feeling eases down a little. "Fuck," he says, "oh fuck, _yes_." Chris says his name, his voice pitched low and rough; he's watching Kazuya again, so intent on him that Kazuya can't look away even though it unnerves him to be at the center of all that focus. "Chris—" he says, stopping when he realizes he doesn't know what he wants to say, or even what he _should_ say.

Chris smiles at him again, another of those gentle, intimate smiles that steal Kazuya's breath, and kisses him again, warm and slow, as he curls his fingers again. Kazuya shakes, pleasure winding through him, and groans as he clutches at Chris' shoulders. "Come on," he says, breathless as he snatches for some scrap of control. "C'mon, I'm ready, fuck me already—"

Even Chris is only human; Kazuya feels the shudder that rolls through him. "God, yes," he breathes against Kazuya's mouth, and sits up.

Kazuya can't find it in him to complain about that, not when it means that he gets to look at Chris kneeling between his knees, naked and hard and more beautiful than Kazuya really knows what to do with it. But that's not entirely true, is it? "Let me," he says as Chris reaches for the condom. "Please."

Chris smiles at him and drops the condom into Kazuya's outstretched hand. "Of course."

Kazuya levers himself up; Chris is right there to reach out and slide his hands up Kazuya's back, holding him steady. He does it so thoughtlessly that Kazuya is sure that he really doesn't think about it. He doesn't know what he wants to make of that, either, so he chooses not to make anything of it at all as he extracts the condom from its wrapper and reaches down for Chris' cock, thick and hot against his palm as he unrolls the condom down its length. Chris makes a sound as Kazuya touches him, low and hungry, but even though he tightens his hands on Kazuya's back, he holds steady, waiting—Kazuya doesn't know what for, so he slicks his fingers and strokes Chris' cock, leaning into him while he does it, and says, "So are you going to fuck me or not?"

He's expecting Chris to retort with a joke, something like _Since you ask so nicely_ or _Who could refuse an offer like that?_ But Chris doesn't. He kisses Kazuya again, a kiss so deep that it steals Kazuya's breath, and presses him back, bearing him down to the mattress and bracing himself over Kazuya. "Yes," he says, murmuring the world against Kazuya's mouth, more earnest than he has any right to be as he runs his hands down Kazuya's body to lift his hips and hold him for the first slow push of his cock.

Kazuya catches Chris' shoulders, groaning with him—_fuck_, the hard stretch in his muscles is good, just as good as the way Chris fills him up as he sinks into him slowly, relentlessly. God, he really _is_ going to still be feeling this tomorrow. The thought makes Kazuya groan again as heat twists in the pit of his stomach. He hooks a leg around Chris' hip, urging him closer.

Chris groans his name, open, letting Kazuya pull him closer until they're skin to skin and Kazuya is gasping against the pressure and weight of Chris over him, inside him. He gasps again when Chris shifts against him, grinding his cock deeper into Kazuya's ass as he kisses the side of Kazuya's throat. "God," he breathes, hoarse and reverent in Kazuya's ear. "God, Kazuya…" He slides a hand under Kazuya to cant his hips up for it as he rocks himself against Kazuya, and Kazuya has no idea which is better, the way it feels to have Chris moving inside him or how easily Chris lifts and holds him for it. Maybe it doesn't even matter, because it all blends together, the softness of Chris' mouth on his skin and the powerful drive of his hips moving against Kazuya's as he fucks him, slow and hard, the slickness of his skin and the breathless reverence in his voice as he murmurs Kazuya's name.

Kazuya moves with him, lifting himself to match the steady beat of Chris' hips, groaning with the way sensation twists through him every time Chris sinks home, sliding his hands over the taut muscles of Chris' back and tilting his head back against the pillow as Chris mouths his throat. "Fuck," he chants until his throat is dry with it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Chris_—" There's heat knotting at the base of his spine, building and tightening, but not _enough_, even though the whole bed shakes every time Chris rocks into him.

Kazuya loosens a hand from Chris' shoulders, meaning to reach down and finish himself off, but Chris stops him. "No," he says, breathless, before pulling away from Kazuya and sitting up. He runs his hands over Kazuya's thighs, spreading them wider, and pulls him closer as he drives his hips forward.

Kazuya thinks he shouts as Chris sinks into him, the angle of his thrust different, deeper. It's difficult to be sure when there's pleasure burning a line up his spine and the sight of Chris kneeling between his leads, gleaming gold in the light from the lamp and utterly intent on the way he's fucking Kazuya, is searing itself into Kazuya's brain. He's fucking Kazuya hard now, rolling his hips forward with enough force that Kazuya reaches over his head to brace himself against the wall, which only means that he gets the full weight of it every time Chris rocks into him. If that weren't enough to drive a man out of his head, Chris says, hoarse, "Come on, Kazuya, let go for me, I want to watch you again." There's something about that, maybe how hungry Chris sounds or maybe the thought of Chris watching him come and wanting to see it again, Kazuya doesn't know what, but it does it—he shouts again, his entire body wringing tight with the way pleasure rakes through him again. The way it feels to have Chris buried inside him while he comes just drags another spasm of pleasure out of Kazuya. So does the way Chris watches him, his eyes burning; Kazuya can still feel him looking even after he closes his eyes and sprawls against the sheets.

He opens them again almost immediately, because he's not an idiot and because Chris is groaning, the sound deep and rough. Kazuya groans too, shuddering as the steady rhythm of Chris' hips falters, turning erratic and sending fresh jolts of sensation through him, and groans again as Chris finally arches, tossing his head back as he comes, bucking against Kazuya. That's a sight worth having lived to see, and so is the way Chris goes relaxed, almost boneless, after he spends himself, and so is the lazy, satisfied curl of his smile as he drapes himself over Kazuya and pins him against the bed.

Kazuya grunts beneath the weight of him, pro forma, though he doesn't really mind it. He utterly fails to be surprised by the way Chris ignores him and instead mouths the side of his throat while somehow contriving to weigh even more, rather like a cat. He doesn't bother protesting, not least because he's certain it wouldn't do him any good. Besides, it's not going to be long before they'll need to clean themselves up and he'll be excusing himself. He can put up with it till then.

When Chris' mouth turns hotter against his throat, he decides that he _does_ have to speak up about that. "There had better not be a hickey on my throat next time I look in the mirror."

"There won't be." Chris sounds serene and also far too satisfied as he pauses. "Well. Not _a_ hickey."

The only appropriate response for that is to ball his fist up and thump it against Chris' shoulder. "Asshole. Knock it off."

He doesn't know why he thought that would do any good; Chris places his mouth against the corner of Kazuya's jaw and sucks hard, until Kazuya feels the sting of the mark blooming there, before drawing back. He's just about grinning, which makes it that much more surprising when he says, "I'm an idiot."

Kazuya squints at him. "What, am I supposed to disagree with you or something?" He's honestly not sure what to make of the non sequitur—

"It's up to you." Chris shrugs as his smile turns rueful. "But if I'd been paying attention, we could have done this ages ago."

It's not like he's wrong, exactly, because he's not, but he's missing a crucial point. "Well, yeah, but c'mon, you could be doing this with _anyone_." If it's an exaggeration, Kazuya knows it's not much of one. Frankly, he doesn't know anyone who'd throw Takigawa Chris Yuu out of bed for eating crackers.

Once again, Chris fails to take his point. "So could you, if it comes to that. But usually you don't."

Kazuya squints at him again, wondering just how Chris defines _usually_. Chris carries on. "It's different when you want it, right?" He smiles at Kazuya again, soft. "So yes, I'm an idiot for not noticing any sooner than this."

Kazuya draws a breath, meaning to say something, he doesn't know quite what, about that. Chris watches him, his eyes soft and steady, and Kazuya finds that he doesn't quite know where to begin. He averts his eyes and thumps Chris' shoulder again. "You gonna let me up any time soon? I wanna get back to my hotel before last call."

"There's a perfectly good bed right over there." A thread of amusement lurks beneath Chris' words. "You're welcome to share it."

"What?" Kazuya can't have heard that right, or Chris must be joking or something (even if he's perfectly serious as far as Kazuya can tell).

"You don't have to," Chris adds, still smiling. "But I'd like it if you did." Just like he'd said when he was asking Kazuya in.

One of them has gotten his wires crossed about what's going on here, and Kazuya's pretty sure it's not him—considering who instigated all this, he knows it's not him. "Um," he says, a little blankly. Normally he does a much better job of setting expectations with his one-night stands than this, he thinks, just a little bewildered, but it's not as though this entire thing with Chris has been normal. And it's _Chris_, who he can't just blow off the way he would something more casual—even if this _is_ only a casual thing—

Kazuya's thoughts snarl and tangle like yarn fallen victim to a playful kitten.

Meanwhile, Chris watches him patiently. "I'd like it if you stayed," he says again, his voice quiet. "But maybe you'd rather leave that for another time?"

"Another time?" Kazuya echoes, seizing on that as a starting point.

"Next time, maybe." There's that twinkle in Chris' eyes, the one that says he's laughing on the inside. "Seeing as I'm not retired anymore, I'll be around, you know."

"Oh," Kazuya says, possibly the single most inane response he could have made, but—that's right. Chris has come back, will be around, is competing again—is within reach again, when Kazuya had given up on ever catching up with him. "You will, won't you."

"Yeah," Chris says quietly, smiling at him. "I'm not going anywhere."

That… that puts a whole different spin on things, though Kazuya avoids looking at the thought too closely, doesn't dare tempt fate by placing too much weight on it. "Right," he says slowly. "That's… what the hell. I guess I can do the walk of shame in the morning. Gonna be last call soon anyway."

"That's true," Chris agrees, grave about it, though the corners of his mouth are twitching a bit. "You may as well stay."

"May as well," Kazuya agrees, right before he pulls Chris down so he can kiss the smile off his face.

**end**

Right, so there was this article about rodeos and bull-riding that came through Longform a couple weeks back, and while I was reading it a wire crossed in my brain and I said, "Wouldn't Chris be super-hot as a cowboy…?" and here we are.

And thus I continue my tradition of porn being the first thing I write for any new fandom.

Comments are always lovely!


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